


Off the Heroic Path

by WeCanDance



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Abuse, All the clues to Flug's history, Angst, Backstory, Drama, Family Drama, Flug's Dad, Flug's name is Kenning, Gen, Goldheart (Villainous) - Freeform, How Flug Became a Villain, Hurt/Comfort, Lore - Freeform, Moral Relativism, Origin Story, Penumbra (Villainous) - Freeform, Violence, but with more angst, real talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22316245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeCanDance/pseuds/WeCanDance
Summary: Before he was known as Dr. Flug, the most lethal mad scientist in the world, the brains behind Black Hat Organization, he was just a teenage genius born into a family of heroes.Everything changed when Penumbra saved him.
Relationships: Dr. Flug (Villainous) & Penumbra
Comments: 12
Kudos: 81





	1. Seeking Recognition

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a lot of clues from the show to demonstrate how Kenning became Dr. Flug. Feel free to share your headcanons about familial drama, Flug's motivation, Penumbra, etc and I might include them in future chapters.

Kenning had always wanted to be a hero. And he might have been, if not for the reflection in the glass liquor cabinet.

It was only logical that everyone in the Heart family should work in heroics. Kenning’s older brother was a registered hero. His parents were secret agents in a heroic initiative. Everyone wanted to be a protagonist, and the science-wiz had the connections and the brains, and the drive to do good--just none of the brawn. 

It was an hour before sunset when Kenning’s father Devon put the whiskey away. At first he saw himself, his tie untied and hanging loosely around his neck, grey sport-coat, neatly slicked-back hair becoming unslicked. Swaying, almost imperceptibly. But then, behind him, he saw a framed object on the opposite wall reflected in the glass cabinet door. 

The middle-aged man turned, weary-eyed, to focus on the thing on the wall that he hadn’t seen before. Next to the list of 2010 graduates from the Academy of Heroics--with his oldest son’s name highlighted in yellow--there was a framed photo behind glass, with two people, their faces obscured by a reflection of kitchen lighting. 

He moved closer, shuffling his shined black shoes on the carpet. The bar of light appeared to move, revealing the faces. One was a that of a news reporter, holding up a microphone to a skinny teen in a blue sweater vest. Devon recognized the teen as his second son, grinning. Smug. Devon snorted and furrowed his brow, a pang of annoyance hitting him in the gut. He lifted the picture off the wall and carried it down the hall.

_____________________

“Kenning, did you hang this?” The older man asked as he stepped through the teenager’s open door. Kenning was hunched over a microscope in a desk chair, and looked up. He picked up a pair of thick glasses from his desk and put them on, then turned to squint at the object Devon was holding. 

“Oh! Yeah, that’s from my interview!” he responded with a wide smile, turning his chair to face his father completely. “About the ultra-light battery I was working on. It was on channel 4.” 

“I see,” Devon said as he tossed the picture to Kenning's immaculately-made bed. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame as the teenager’s eyes followed the picture. “I don’t see why you got on TV for that.”

Kenning frowned and crossed his arms, mirroring. “Well, there can be a lot of practical uses for battery-powered objects, but their size-to-power ratio--”

“Son, do you know what I do?” Devon interrupted. 

Ken looked to the left and right, as though someone might be listening. “Yes?” 

“I’m on a team that thwarts villains every day. Without our agents, the _world_ could be at stake. But _I_ never get interviewed on TV.” 

Ken was silent for a moment, and shifted his head to peer at his father from the side. “You can't--you can't talk about secret agent work on TV...” 

Devon huffed and strode over to the teen. “The point _is,_ ” he diverged, “this is a family of heroes, not nerds. You need to focus on your strength and combat skills if you’re ever going to get into The Academy of Heroics.” 

Kenning looked past his father at the open door. “I can use science to be a--”

“Come with me. We’re going on a drive.”

Ken sighed and stepped towards the closet. “I don’t really want to have this conversation again, Dad.”

The older man suddenly took him by the forearm, pulling him down the hall before he could pick up his jacket from the closet. Before he knew it, he had been shoved into the passenger seat of the family sedan. It was freezing in the car, and he quickly turned on the heat and opened the vents as his father struggled with the keys. 

As the engine ignited, air blew from the vents on the dashboard onto the pair. But the air was cold. 

It seemed like it was always cold when Ken sat with his father. 


	2. Statue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenning's dad tries to convince him to be more like traditional heroes by showing him the statue of Sunblast.  
> But Kenning knows he will never be like him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for parental badgering, which is painfully realistic from my experience, and physical abuse.

“Don’t use so much energy,” Devon said to his passenger as he flicked off the heat in his car. “We have to save the planet.” 

Kenning was already curled in on himself in the passenger’s seat, cold, skinny, and coat-less. The air blowing through the car's heating system had warmed up, and he had switched all the vents to face him. He narrowed his eyes at his father’s fingers as they worked, denying him his warmth. The teenager shivered, arms around his legs, then exhaled hard through his nose, and turned to look out the window.

Attitude. It figures. But that wouldn’t dissuade Devon Heart. Devon Heart was a good guy. Most other fathers would have given up on someone like Kenning. That’s what Devon’s work friends told him to do. _Just leave him alone,_ they’d say. _He’s never going to be what you want him to be._

But Devon was a _devoted_ father, he knew. Here he was, driving an hour and a half to show his son what it means to be a hero. 

For one, it means sacrifice. Devon had to sacrifice so much in high school. Partying. Geeking out. The girl of his dreams. He could never get those back. But it was worth it, because now he had a career in heroics, so Kenning would have to learn sacrifice as well.

The trip was punctuated with one-sided declarations. “You know, your brother never needed to be reminded to work out,” Devon would explain. Kenning didn’t respond. 

“Do you understand?” Devon hammered. 

“Yes.”

“That’s why he’s a hero now.” 

“Uh huh.” 

He couldn’t get Kenning to argue, but he could see the cold boy was steaming. 

* * *

  
  
For an hour and a half, they traveled. The roads wound in and out of hills, stratus clouds spilled low into the sky, and a blue mood filled the air in and outside of the car. Eventually, the road became flatter and they started to see other cars on the outskirts of Atreno City. 

Kenning adjusted his glasses as he saw an enormous, humanoid silhouette emerge on the skyline. He recognized it as a monument to Sunblast, a controversial super hero who his brother aspired to be. They drove past the statue and Kenning nearly smirked as he saw his father salute it. They pulled over only a block away. Normally there wasn't parking for half a mile within the city center, but now few people were out on such a cold weeknight. The pair exited the car and made their way to the crown jewel of Atreno City.

“This is what a hero enjoys, Son,” Devon explained, hand clasped over his chest as they came to the statue. “A monument! The people of this city have nothing but love and respect for Sunblast. Can you imagine if people felt that way about _you?”_

The boy rubbed his hands together, walking closer to the base of the statue. He noticed some graffiti running in thick, black letters on the base on the statue. 

  
‘DUMBLAST’

“Look at that build, how many pushups do you think he’s done?” his father continued. “You never see a monument honoring a _scientist,_ boy.” 

Ken turned to face his patriarch, back to the statue. “What are you talking about? We used to live a _block_ from a statue of Marie Curie!” At least the frustration raised his temperature a little bit. 

“She probably fought off villains on the side,” Devon mused with unearned certainty. “That’s when people used secret identities.” 

“Oh, my god,” Ken mumbled, putting his hands on the side of his head, keeping his eyes low. He leaned back against the base of the statue for a second, then came away after realizing how cold the granite was. He made a mental note to never have his jacket out of reach, he couldn’t believe in 45 degrees he had to make this trip in his jeans and T-shirt. 

Then, Ken noticed his father tensing his shoulders. He probably had expected the teen to be moved by this speech, and promise to never choose extra credit over gym time again. Dad wouldn’t be happy that his plan wasn’t doing anything. 

“So I guess you just want to be a villain,” the larger man said, gesturing emphatically. Squaring his shoulders. Scowling. “You want to hurt people and be hated by everyone?” 

“No.” Ken didn’t want to back down but he also didn’t want a scene. He felt like he had tried everything to get his father to drop the subject; engaging wouldn't do anything different than ignoring him.

“How do you think you’ll get into The Academy of Heroics?”

“I-I’ve told you this before. I’m going to get in with science.” 

“It’s not safe for someone like you to go into heroics. Unless you get your act together and start combat training and bulking up.” 

“It-it’s not--I’m not going to be like him, Dad.” Ken figured he should skip to the end of the conversation. But, he couldn't help but notice that he was a picture of vulnerability--physically trapped between a rock and a hard man, small, shivering violently, and his voice high in pitch. He wouldn’t cry; that would just prove his father’s point and, importantly, humiliate the teen.

Devon grunted. “Not yet. You don’t want it enough yet. That’s why you’re so _lazy_ and never try.” 

How could he think that -- _how could he possibly think that?!_ Hell, even the parents of _other_ students knew his name, congratulated him, and talked about how he worked so hard on his game-changing science projects. “I’ve won the state science fair every year! I’m going to Nationals this year!” Ken’s voice got louder and higher as he leaned forward, gesturing incredulously with his palms up. “That’s _laziness_ to you?!”

“Kid, that doesn’t matter,” Devon pivoted. “If you’re face-to-face with a raging sentient _bear_ , what are you gonna do, show him your science fair ribbon?” 

“It’s trophies, Dad, you’d remember if you didn’t throw them away.” 

“Are you gonna tell Quimera that? Or are you going to _fight like a man, Kenning?_ ”

“I _told you!_ I’m going to use--”

The teen grunted as he was pushed sharply by the shoulders into the base of the statue. 

“What?” the imposing man growled, eyes twisted menacingly. “Science? Where’s your _science_ now?” His broad hands came forward again and pushed him harder into the metallic base. 

Against all odds, the teen didn’t miss a beat in response. “It could have,” he retorted, “If I had prepared, which I would have if I had known that I was going to face _a villain_ today.” 

Devon drew forward into the already narrow space between them, almost closing it. Eyes burning cold. A towering stone idol. “What did you say?” 

“If you weren’t an imbecile, you’d get the implication,” the teen’s eyes narrowed behind his thick glasses. It was as though someone else was possessing him, but he liked it. “As it is, I’ll tell you. You worship the good guys, but you’re _not one of them_ . You’re _a bad guy.”_

Ken will always remember that sentence with perfect clarity. He’ll remember the feeling of being so much smarter than his father, and telling him so. He’ll remember the blow to his father’s ego with satisfaction.

More vaguely, though, he remembers being reached for. 

And only distantly will he remember realizing how saying something like that to such a powerful, proud man, was exceptionally, painfully stupid.


	3. Vision

Sounds floated above him like a bird on water. Sometimes ducking beneath the waves, staying for untold time, them re-emerging in a different spot. Hard to notice, too fleeting to store in his memory for later reference. The sounds could duck, tail up, into the water, and come up again when he didn't expect it, shooting into the sky and flying away forever. What kind of bird was it calling--what were the words?

But now the waves rushed into his ears; waves of pain on the back of his head. Waves of shivers, he was so cold. He sensed that he was laying on his back on the ground. He thought of the zeroth law of thermodynamics:  _ Thermal equilibrium is transitive.  _ As his whole back is in contact with the ground, he knows the earth will suck the heat out of him until his body and the planet are the same temperature; of course, he would freeze to death first.

Before the cerebral young man could figure out the equation estimating how long he had before hypothermia set in, another wave hit him. A wave of realization: there was someone near him. Touching his shoulder. Friend or foe? 

_ I’m tired. How did my face get wet? Where is my coat? I’m moving; please get me off the ground. It’s cold.  _

Then, a chirp in Kenning’s ear. “Up,” was the only word he heard, but he knew there was more.

Kenning opened his eyes to see a field of greyish blue. The sky. _Up!_ There was also something  _ in _ the sky, but it was blurry. Or rather, it looked blurry, hopefully because Kenning was missing his glasses and not because the injury damaged his vision. 

What  _ was _ it? Something white. He tried to focus on it. This was important, in his haze, he was sure.  _ Meaningful _ . Hopefully, the words “you’ll be fine” written in the clouds. No? It’s moving.  _ Up. _ He had to look up, it was important. A harbinger, it’s something white, moving through the sky; he had to know, as he always did. What is it, up in the sky? 

A bird?

No. 

A plane. 


	4. A White Seabird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penumbra can't help but help. It's in her blood. On the other hand, Kenning's blood appears to be on her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the best chapter I've ever written. And it's all Penumbra.

_ BONG! Thud.  _

These were the sounds that changed Kenning’s fate.

Penelope had heard something like them before while walking down Central Avenue in Atreno City about a year ago, that unforgettable metallic  _ bong _ . On that day, a poor, unfortunate creature had flown into the statue, and fell to the ground with a  _ thud _ . She ran to its side; it was a bird, a huge white seabird, who she then scooped up and took home to rehabilitate. It was only later, when she set it down on her kitchen table, that she realized she had carried home a dead albatross. 

On this cold evening, she heard the sounds again.  _ Bong!  _ She would find another vulnerable creature at the foot of the gold idol, she knew. It was just across the street from where Penelope had been walking, clad in a long brown coat and tall boots, and she turned and ran toward it before she could stop herself. With a belt supplied with gizmos and batteries bouncing on her waist, her shadowy “hair” flowing behind her, she quickly came to the source of the sounds. But there was no broken-winged bird, just a tall, broad-shouldered man straightening up, and a body on the pavement. 

“What’s happening?” She asked without thinking as she came to the foot of her monolithic nemesis. 

The grey-suited man grunted and looked at her briefly. His face was red and he was wiping his left knuckle’s on his suit, smearing red on it. “I wasn’t trying to--just mind your own business, lady. I’ll take care of it.”

The woman was never a fan of being told to mind her own business; the way she figured it, if someone was vulnerable or hurt, it was the business of anyone in a position to help to do so. 

But, rather than preparing to lecture the man on moral philosophy, she looked down and dropped to her knees to see what was wrong with the slack person below her. It was a skinny boy in a blue shirt, sporting a cut above his right eyebrow. Blood running down the side of his head and staining the sidewalk. 

The man lurched towards them. “I  _ said--”  _

“Get out!” Still crouched, with the speed of a quickdraw cowboy in a western movie, she pulled a gun-shaped device from her belt and pointed it him. Her eyes narrowed seriously. “ _ Now _ .”

The man’s eyes widened at the sight of the weapon and he stopped his advance. But he didn’t leave. He searched her expression for a moment, then looked back down at the body. Then his eyes caught something to his left, and he stared for a moment. Something about whatever it was he saw inspired him to turn and walk briskly away. 

Penelope re-holstered her device, giving no thought to where the man was going, and turned her attention to the boy on the ground. She shook his shoulder to rouse him. Nothing. 

“Hey! Are you ok? Wake up,” she coaxed, patting his cheek. Jostling his shoulder. He was like a doll, completely unresponsive. 

A pang of panic swept through Penumbra as a morbid fear rose. She positioned herself so that she could cradle his neck under one arm, getting blood on her coat, and with shaking fingers she reached for his carotid artery on his neck to check for a heartbeat.

A fraction of a second passed. 

Then, a soft beat. Then another, and another. Penelope could have sworn her own heart had started beating again as she felt the pulse.

Another, harsh sound broke her concentration. The shrill sound of an anonymous elderly woman. “Hey!” Penelope looked up and saw a stranger across the street, where she had been standing when she first heard the sounds. “Stop! I’ve called the police, Witch!” 

Penelope pursed her lips in confusion. Why did this stranger call the police on her? She was only trying to help. Then, as she sat there with an unconscious young man, a dark shadow waving behind her, gun-like gadgets on her waist, blood on her hands and coat, she clearly looked like an assailant. 

A villain. 

She knew the cops wouldn’t think twice about arresting her when they came--and given her record, she wouldn’t come out of prison for a long time. The jury, certain to be stacked with Atrenans, would certainly never believe that she was anything other than a bad guy, out to harm her fellow man. 

Penelope really had to get out of there. 

A woman with better self-preservation instincts would have bolted, leaving the teen on the ground. But, he just looked so vulnerable. He needed someone. 

“Please, please get up... _ up!”  _ She was nearly crying. She tried to remember what she was supposed to do if she found someone unconscious; she knew that being knocked out for more than a minute was extremely dangerous, and she lamented to consider that he could already be brain dead--or soon to be fully-dead. Anyway, there wasn’t really a sure-fire, safe way to wake someone up after a traumatic head injury. 

No, she wouldn’t risk injuring him more by picking him up. Nor would she try to rouse him again. Instead, she would wait by his side until the police came. Perhaps an ambulance would arrive as well, and she would stay with him as EMT’s treated the kid. 

The police would probably arrest her. This, she accepted. But she wouldn’t run, wouldn’t leave him alone. Such is the price of her uncompromising instincts to help others. It was her personal albatross. 

The albatross...that poor, limp, cold seabird.

The machine. __

The boy. 

Surely, one of her deeds would turn out for the best. Somehow she would change someone’s fate for the better. Right? 

She bowed her head and leaned back, waiting. A minute passed. She took in the sounds around her, which seemed preternaturally loud. 

Sounds bounced off the idol that had hurt the bird and the boy, and she wondered why so many worshiped it. A golden calf. A breeze hummed around it. Footsteps shuffled away from it.  And above it, a soft  _ fwooom _ entered the soundscape. 

It was a low-flying plane. 

That’s when the boy’s eyes opened. 


	5. Dr. Braxton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ken's brain is still wonky, but at least he's cuddling with something furry and blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to pay attention to so much lore for this. Might be some Easter eggs.

_Observe._

_Orient._

_Decide._

_Act._

This, Kenning knew, was something to remember in times of confusion. “OODA.” And boy, was he confused. Kenning’s world was hazy in more ways than one; observing would be difficult. He looked around and saw beige walls in the open room. A window framed by purple curtains displayed only darkness outside, and there was a black loveseat across from him. A table to the side opposite the window, and some splotches of green in each corner. 

What was he sitting on? Something plush, likely a couch to match the loveseat. His legs were curled up underneath him and his back was leaning against the corner of the armrest and the seatback.

“Here.” He heard a feminine voice in front of him and tried to focus. The figure before him looked a bit like a whooping crane; tall, white, with black highlights; it was only on his remembrance that whooping cranes can’t speak that he decided that the figure was probably something like a human. She was offering him something. “For your face,” she continued. 

He reached out to the object in front of him; it was warm and wet, and by the texture he could feel it was a towel. _My face?_ He noticed that the spot above his right eye was stinging, and he wiped at it, then down his face. He pulled the towel away to reveal a red blur. 

“I’m going to bandage your head, ok?” The woman asked. Ken nodded. She handed him a square of gauze and told him to hold it at the cut above his eye. Ken wondered if this would hurt, but he knew it had to be done. _Jesus,_ his entire head was _throbbing._

As the mysterious Samaritan wrapped something around his head, he moved on from “observe” to “orient.” How did he get here, what did he remember? 

There was a statue in the distance, he recalled. The effigy in Atreno City, depicting Goldheart, his brother. Him and his father had driven to the statue, saw it up close, touched it even. The concrete of the ground was the same grey as his father; Dad must be a statue too. Ken supposed it was genetic. _Idol._ Idle, idol. Hehe. He suppressed a chuckle. _Maybe they’re called “idles” because they don’t move,_ he deduced. 

Wait, that wasn’t right; his father wasn’t a statue, he could move. He had in fact moved very quickly and threateningly, but Kenning doesn’t remember anything at all after that. 

Well, there was one way to find out what he wanted to know. “How did I get here?” he asked as the woman finished tying the bandage. It partially covered his right eye, but he could feel that the bruising would swell on that side and obscure his already-poor vision anyway. 

“You walked?” she answered in a concerned tone. “Like, five minutes ago. Are you feeling ok?”

Ken shivered and curled up even tighter, a slew of new questions entering his brain. “No. Who are you?” 

“Penelope. And you’re Ken.”

He winced. “How did you know that?”

“You told me.” 

Ken was starting to feel vulnerable, nearly blind, in someone else’s house, not knowing anything about her. Apparently, he had told her things that he didn’t remember telling her. Also, he was _very_ cold. He didn’t notice that the woman had left his presence, but some unknown time later he felt a warm, plush blanket drape around him. He accepted it eagerly, wrapping the furry cyan offering around his entire body and legs. He contemplated how his generous host had known that he wanted it. 

“I would have taken you to a doctor, but I’ve never had a good experience at Atreno’s General Hospital,” the bird-like woman said as she sat on the loveseat across from Ken. “I can take you if you want, but I think you’re better off here.”

Penelope handed her guest another mysterious object. He felt for it; something fragile. Thank goodness, he had his glasses back. However, the right temple was broken and they wouldn’t stay on his face without holding one side up with his hand. The world became clearer, and he looked around the room more carefully. He deduced that he was in a quaint home, sitting across from a pretty woman with long, shadow-like hair. Her appearance was odd, but he knew enough kids with ghost hair and gills and whatnot from various industrial accidents that he wasn’t in the habit of questioning human anomalies. From her pale skin and grey scleras, he suspected she was probably an Umbra, or someone who developed extreme light sensitivity in the wake of a mechanical malfunction in at Atreno’s International Convention Center. 

“That guy who knocked you out looked tough,” Penelope continued, reaching for something on the coffee table in front of the couch. It looked like something that Marvin the Martian might have. “But you should have seen his face when I pointed this at him.” She picked up the futuristic object, some sort of silver and green gun, then aimed it at a tall, white flower in the corner and pulled the trigger. It made a short _zap_ sound, and Ken saw a small, dark cloud appear above the plant. 

“It just gives the ‘victims’ a little cloud for a day. It’s harmless. I’m testing it out and hoping that it can be useful for Umbras who want to go out safely when the sun is up. I suppose it looks scary to those who don’t know what it is. That big guy bolted when I threatened him with this.”

Ken imagined his father running scared from the harmless device and chuckled darkly. Penelope smiled, oblivious to the venom in his laugh. 

“Did you invent that?” He asked, enthused. As he scanned the room, still holding up his glasses with one hand, he noticed things that he had in his own bedroom; a green chalkboard scrawled with equations, Erlenmeyer flasks cluttered on shelves, and a white lab coat and gloves tossed messily on an office chair by a multi-screen computer. 

For a moment, Ken was concerned, though--perhaps he really _was_ in his own bedroom, and this stranger was just a hallucination. He could hardly trust his own brain right now. 

“Yes!” She replied, with matching vigor. “I’m a professional scientist. Lately I’m working on a flying machine, but I’m not sure if it will work. The battery is too heavy, and I...oh, sorry, I’m rambling, you probably don’t care about this stuff. Are you interested in science?” 

There, on the black couch, covered in a furry, blue blanket, and holding up his partially-broken glasses, Ken grinned. And he didn't feel quite so cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: (SPOILERS) 
> 
> Penumbra somehow convinces Ken to become a villain! I don't really know how someone so nice would want to be (or was forced to be?) a villain. What is the appeal? Seriously, I want to hear your thoughts.


	6. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penumbra and Future-Flug talk science and the grey nature of morality.

For an hour, the pair was in bliss. Words of science, of lift, of sustainable power sources, of lithium-ion batteries and mitigating risk, tumbled over each other, the sound of glee radiating off the syllables. Ken, no longer desperately huddling in the plush blanket, let it slip down to his shoulders. 

“Wait, that’s where I know you from!” Penelope exclaimed. “The lightweight battery you mentioned, I’ve heard of it before. I saw it on Channel 4. I can’t believe you invented that and you’re a highschooler!”

In some part of his mind, Ken figured that he should not give any more information to this strange woman. 

But. 

She  _ noticed _ . She was  _ impressed.  _ The recognition...it was intoxicating. Ken couldn’t let go of that. He grinned ear to ear. 

“Yes, well, I thought something like that would have a lot of applications.” He picked up a cup of water that he didn’t remember appearing on the coffee table, and sipped it, feigning modesty. 

“You’re right, there are so many projects you could collaborate on with that. If it ever gets mass produced, I’ll be first in line to buy it for my flying machine. Some of the greatest minds at the Mad Science Expo would, quite literally, kill to have technology like that.”

Ken coughed a little and lowered his cup. “Oh, I’ve seen some good science there on the internet but you won’t be seeing me at the actual expo. It’s for villains.”

Penelope shrugged. “Villainy is where the progress happens.” 

“And how do you know that?”

Penelope leaned back in her chair and stared at the wall behind her guest. “Atreno City registered villain Penumbra, at your service.” 

Ken furrowed his brow and cocked his head. “You’re joking. You saved me! You’re a hero.” 

“I’m no hero,” she said with resigned certainty. 

Ken put his mug down and blinked. “You’re not...you didn't pick me up for a ransom or anything, did you? Because you would never get--” 

“Oh, no!” Penelope laughed. “No, I understand, some villains do that kind of stuff. But we run the gamut. I’m not trying to hurt anyone, not all villains do. Some of us are just trying to disrupt systems of oppression, or save plants, or make a statement. It’s really not as black and white as you might read in the newspapers. The city government is always throwing around the word ‘terrorist’ any time someone throws a brick through a window. Robin Hood was a villain.” 

Huh. Ken had never thought he’d meet someone defending literal  _ villainy _ before. That was like saying “it’s good to be bad.” But if this woman, so kind, smart, and dedicated, could be a villain...maybe they weren’t all bad. 

But it still didn’t make sense. “If you’re good, why not be a good guy?” 

“I tried to be a good guy,” Penelope explained. “You see that diploma on the wall? From the Academy of Heroics. I was meant to be a hero. But when one of my inventions exploded, I accidentally hurt people instead of helping them. So I got hit with the ‘villain’ label and I had to be one.” 

Ken’s mind was reeling. He felt soft ripples of pain ebb and flow in his head. He pulled the plush blanket up over his head again. “That doesn’t seem fair.” 

“You’re telling me!” Penumbra responded. “But, it’s not all bad. I used to spend all my time writing grant proposals; it took years to get my first experiment funded, and it wasn’t even up to the scientific standards I had wanted. Too much paperwork! But do you know what villain-affiliated labs get?”

“What?”

“Instant funding.” 

“ _ Instant?”  _

“And  _ generous.”  _

“Generous funding? For science?!” 

“You really have to read the fine print on the contracts, but yes. I’ve never had more opportunities to do more work, and create more amazing things, than when I affiliated with Universidad del Diablo.”

Ken stared at her, looking bug-eyed behind the thick glasses. She leaned forward. 

“Far be it from me to corrupt the youth, but, Ken. Your mind is incredible. It would be a tragedy for you to be stuck in an ivory tower, doing everything by the book, waiting for permission to begin creating. With what you’ve accomplished already, you could get a full ride to BHO Institute. If you partner with some of the great minds in villainy, by the time you’re my age, you could have created a dozen earth-shattering inventions.” 

Ken’s heart thudded in his chest. Come to think of it, he  _ had  _ seen villains using incredible technology, and not always for evil. Sometimes they just created anthropomorphic robots that animals could operate, or bio-enhancements. Certainly, villains had the most fashionable and advanced flying machines. 

“Do you know what else I get, now that I’m a villain?” 

Ken leaned forward, loud silence declaring his interest. 

“Recognition, Ken. Everyone in Atreno knows me, and a lot of them love me. A lot of them hate me, but they all care about what I do. I’m always in the news. Every villain this side of the country knows my name, and our network is strong. If you’re connected, the villainous community can protect you.” 

Ken was silent, looking into the woman’s eyes. One hand was keeping his blanket closed, the other holding up his glasses. He had never thought about this before. He had always imagined himself creating endlessly, never worrying about funding, seeing his inventions impact millions of lives, the world in awe. He continued looking at her, as though he could divine the truth through her expression. 

No….he could never be a bad guy. The waves swelled. “But villains hurt people.” 

“So do heroes,” Penelope countered quickly. “You saw when Heavy Punch put Heliophagus in a coma, right?”

Of course he had seen it; the footage of the battle ran on Channel 4 for a week straight. Ken threw up his dinner the first time he saw it. For just an instant too long, he felt as though he was underwater.

Penelope stood up. “I’m sorry, this is all complicated. You have to do a lot of research and make your own decision. I’m not trying to sell you on anything.” She opened a cupboard and pulled out an orange bottle with a white cap. 

Ken had never thought about villainy as a possible path forward before today. His head was throbbing. The sea was rising. Slowly but steadily, the waves returned, and he dipped beneath them. Villainy was wrong; even someone with a traumatic head injury should know that. His family was all heros. His father would never let him--his father would--his--where was--

Something in his pocket was vibrating.


	7. Dark Skies Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penumbra drives Ken home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all you cool cats and kittens. Last chapter. Dialogue-heavy but I think it’s a good ending, lots of explanations. Probably gonna be my last fic, at least for a while. Send comments and check out my other fics for more Flug angst.

The garage door opened and a white Nissan emerged, climbing a steep driveway from subterranean parking. As the car came to the top and turned onto 5th st, yellow headlights cut through the darkness. 

There were neither words spoken by the passengers nor the sounds of an engine coming from the electric car, only a soft rumble of the road beneath them. Ken put his elbow on the ledge of the window and held his chin in his hand, watching the houses full of peacefully sleeping families pass by. Disappearing behind him before too quickly to really absorb their presence. Penelope squinted at the road ahead as she pulled into the normally bustling downtown area. 

“Hey,” she asked quietly. “Just making sure. Do you remember what I said about the pills?” 

“Um,” Ken replied. “Yeah, they should help heal any, um,” he searched the sky for several long moments. Penelope looked at him from the side of her eye until he finished his sentence. “...brain trauma.” 

“Yes, but I meant about how often you should take them.” She returned her focus to the road as they reached the edge of town.

“I don’t remember you saying anything about that. But it’s on the bottle, right?” 

“Yes. Three a day, one with each meal until they’re gone. And Dr. Shih-Bo’s number is on the bottle too if you need it.” 

“Thank you.” 

They returned to silence again as they passed the Sunblast statue, a dark silhouette against the sky. Small lights illuminated the base, though, and Ken squinted to see dark stains on the concrete, turning his head to follow them as they drove. 

“Have you heard from your parents? They’re probably worried.”

Ken remembered that he had felt his phone buzz but couldn’t recall if he had checked it. He shifted so he could reach into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, then squinted at the screen. 

“Yes. My dad texted me.” 

“What’d he say?” 

“He wants me to come home, he says he needs to apologize.”

The buildings thinned out as they traveled further into the night. Penelope blinked in confusion. “Apologize?” 

“Well, yes, f-for, for h-hitting me.” 

“What? When did he hit you?” Penumbra asked with alarm.

“Um...didn’t you say you saw?” Ken mumbled, fiddling with his phone. 

“At the statue? That was your  _ father _ that attacked you?” Penelope connected, gripping the steering wheel hard. 

Ken was silent. He had thought they had talked about this.

“Let me get this straight,” she said, gaining pitch in her voice. “Your own father hit you hard enough to knock you out. He saw you knocked out on the street, bleeding all over, then ran away when I threatened him. You could have been dead.  _ I thought you were dead. _ I was terrified and I didn’t even know you. And he just went home. Now that you’ve been gone for hours, who knows where, with who knows who, he wants to apologize.” 

“It’s better than not wanting to apologize.” 

“At the very least he should be asking if you’re ok.” 

Ken swallowed so loudly that Penelope could hear it. Another silent minute passed. “And now I’m going back to him.” 

“I know. I understand that family can be a little complicated. But what he did was cruel,” Penelope explained. “I don’t think you should stay with him.” 

“What choice do I have.” 

“What we talked about.” 

Ken scanned the horizon and put his phone back in his back pocket. “Switching sides you mean.” 

“I don’t mean to pressure you, but if you get a good scholarship package, you could get free room and board at BHO Academy,” Penelope suggested softly. 

“My family would hate me.”

“And how do they feel about you now?” 

Ken turned to her and raised his eyebrows. Wow. That was bold. But he wasn’t about to say anything that would start a fight with the woman who had just helped him so much and now had the power to kick him out of the car. It was the middle of the night in the countryside, and if he listened closely, he could hear yipping coyotes in the distance.

“If you became a powerful enough villain,” she continued, “or even just aligned yourself with someone revered, they might even just fear you. You could make your own father run screaming with a glance.” 

“Tempting,” Flug said, only half-joking. “But if I do this, I would never want them to know. They would kill me. Maybe I could run the scenes of a villainous company from behind a curtain, and someone more charismatic could be the face.” That would take half the fun out if it, though. 

“You could. Or, you know a lot of villains have secret identities. Make up a name, wear a mask, a cool one. Then your new persona is famous, and you can leave little Kenny behind.”

As the car rounded the top of a hill the ocean came into view. Vast, deep, dark, and sprawled out ahead of them infinitely. Gulls circled overhead, crying in a variety of different pitches. Ken thought about their larynxs and why each of them sounded different, and if a gull’s voice could be changed by altering the thickness of their vocal cords. Surely. He could probably do the same with a human. The white birds sailed freely on the breeze. 

“One of these days I am going to thank you properly for this,” he promised the driver as they turned, ocean and birds now at their side. 

They kept driving through the country toward the Hart house, shushing waves frothing over the sand. As the light pollution from the city faded away the stars shone brighter. Ken could get used to the darkness. 

* * *

The white Nissan pulled up in front of Ken’s family’s house, and Penelope turned it off. “Stay safe, Ken,” she told the teenager in earnest. “I hope things work out for you. Maybe I’ll see you in the villainy world some day.”

Ken smiled and opened the door and stepped out, then turned around and bent halfway so they could see each other across the car. “If you do, you won’t know it.”

With that, he smiled and closed the door. He walked up to his house and that was the last Penumbra saw of Ken Hart. 

Years later in 2019 Penumbra is still living in downtown Atreno City. She often walks past the statue and checks for the dark stains on the base. They’ve faded so much that you wouldn’t even see them if you didn’t know where to look, or what they meant. Every time she passes it she spares a thought for the boy she found unconscious there. 

And every time she wishes she knew what became of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Villainous characters but I generally have trouble understanding villains in any sort of fiction because why the hell would you want to be evil. I could never understand a desire to hurt people, even those who hurt you, so I didn’t make Flug’s motivations revenge-focused. Instead, in the previous chapter I tried to make villainy appealing by making it more practical for scientists. Furthermore the violence of Ken’s “heroic” father only leads him to believe there’s no point in aligning yourself with a self-righteous group that speaks of morality, because Flug has become disillusioned regarding their purity. Penny seems purely nice, though. Ken seems to have both a good side and an evil side.
> 
> Maybe Flug is kind to 505 and Penumbra because they’re the only ones who have been respectful of him. Maybe he assumes the worst in everyone, but if he would trust people enough to let them in, they could somewhat easily get on his good side.


End file.
